


Lullaby

by shireness



Series: Rock Star!Emma AU - Maybe I Won't Die Alone [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 14:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14594703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireness/pseuds/shireness
Summary: The house is quiet. There’s a good reason for that, however - a very small, still fragile reason who they’re all loath to disturb in any way.





	Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to "Maybe I Won't Die Alone" and "Second Verses and Happy Beginnings", which you should definitely read first. Several of you inquired about whether we'd see baby Wiley in a fic, so here you go! Un-beta'd. Just a bunch of fluff and no language to speak of, so rated G. Title and italicized verses taken from a Dixie Chicks song. Enjoy!

_ How long do you want to be loved? _

The little house is quiet, which is notable in and of itself. Any place Killian Jones and Emma Swan (Emma Swan-Jones, really, according to the paperwork, if not public memory) is typically notable for the sound reverberating through it, between her music and his penchant for chatter and their shared love for their stereo system. But it’s quiet now, even if it’s only three in the afternoon.

There’s a good reason for that, however - a very small, still fragile reason who they’re all loath to disturb in any way.

Wiley David Jones is a mere eight days old, but he’s already become Killian’s entire world - a sentence that feels entirely melodramatic, and yet is entirely true. Meeting Emma, falling in love with Emma, had felt like a missing piece being found and slotted into his soul - a feeling of contentment and completeness he wouldn’t trade for the world - but holding his son for the first time is a different thing altogether: feelings of pride and fear mixed together with the sense that his world has suddenly been blown wide open and become larger than he could ever have fathomed. It’s awe-inspiring, really, and especially amazing that those feelings can be caused by something so small.

Killian’s been assured that his son is a perfectly normal size multiple times - 6 pounds, 11 ounces and 20 inches at birth - but that doesn’t keep him from thinking that Wiley is unutterably tiny, all his features miniscule and appearing unimaginably delicate. He’s a handsome lad, though Killian may be biased on that front, with soft wisps of dark hair and the cutest little nose. Killian sees a lot of Emma in their boy, in his chin and the shape of his mouth and the way Wiley is always moving when he’s awake (and often when he’s not) - not unhappy, just determined to be in motion, like he’s trying to find where the action is. Emma, bless her, swears the exact opposite, that their boy is clearly taking after his papa (“Just  _ look _ at those ears, for God sake”). Regardless of which parent little Wiley currently takes after, Killian finds a certain amount of wonder in knowing that as the years pass, their little one will grow into his own person, a mix of the two of them that he’ll make entirely his own.

Technically, Wiley is supposed to be napping. Technically, they both are - sleep when the baby does and all that - and Emma, at least, is wise enough to actually take that advice. But Killian had caught some of the little newborn gurgles coming through the baby monitor as he finished tidying up the kitchen, and the noise had called to him like its own kind of siren song. Creeping into the nursery he and Emma had so carefully set up and decorated with pictures of cartoon zoo animals, he can see the little lad wide awake in his crib, pedalling his arms and legs like he’s attempting to run a race no one can see. And honestly, as long as they’re both awake, what’s the harm of having a little cuddle?

There’s an art to picking up a baby, he’s learned in the last week, a series of careful maneuvers to ensure that one’s infant is safe and secure and supported in one’s arms. But after eight days, it’s starting to become instinctual, all the intricacies of weaseling a hand under Wiley’s little neck and bum before lifting him fully into the air and into his arms, and Killian is confident is will soon become an unconscious motion.

“Hello there, little one,” he coos, and God, when did he become a man who  _ coos _ ? “Are you not sleepy yet?”

It seems ridiculous to Killian that Wiley isn’t tired, considering the very eventful week he’s had. Being born ought to be stressful enough, suddenly facing a wide, wide world with only the comfort of a few familiar voices to know everything will be alright, but he’s had a steady stream of visitors ever since. Liam and Elsa seem to be over at the little house on some excuse or other every day, though they do bring various casseroles and other meals, so that’s ultimately welcomed (even if Killian  _ would _ like a day with just his wife and son sometime in the near future, thank you very much). There’s been a steady stream of quasi aunts and uncles parading through as well, only increasing the chaos. Ruby had dropped by the hospital, promising the newborn she’d teach him everything his parents forbade (a declaration neither Emma or Killian is particularly surprised by, but will try to remember as Wiley gets older). Robin and Regina brought over flowers and a lasagna the day after everyone got settled in together at home, fussing over the baby in a way that Killian thinks suggests they may try for their own addition in the near future. Belle and Will had generously donated some of their more gender-neutral hand-me-downs to the cause of clothing the little lad, and stopped by both the hospital and the house a few days later to introduce their own little girl to Wiley.

(“We’re going to have our hands full, won’t we?” laughs Will, gently and confidently bouncing the tiny lad in his arms like the more experienced parent he is. He’s probably thinking of one child leading the other into trouble some day and how much of a pain  _ that _ will prove to be, but Killian is struck with a silly grin at the thought of two dark heads hiding behind the sofa or giggling as they run up and down the length of the bar on an evening one of their parents’ bands play at the Jolly Roger.

They’ll certainly have their hands full, and Killian  _ can’t wait _ .)

The parade of loved ones isn’t likely to stop anytime soon; Mulan will be in town to talk business at the end of the month, having been sent plenty of photos in the meantime, and Emma’s family is expected at the end of the week, graciously granting the new parents a chance to settle in before they fly over from the States and stage a well-meaning and affectionate invasion. Killian is grateful for all the support; he really is. It’s been heartwarming to witness the collection of people who already love his son. But he’s just as pleased for these small moments to themselves, just him and Emma and Wiley.

In all seriousness, Killian is exhausted, and had planned to join Emma in bed for that nap. But as long as Wiley is awake, it seems criminal not to take advantage of every single moment. His one concession is to lower himself into the nursery’s cushioned rocker with the lad and at least get off his feet for a few minutes. Even better, the rocking might put both of them to sleep.

Not right now, though. Right now, Wiley is reaching up at Killian with tiny fingers from the cradle of his arms, and really, it’s enough to make any man melt.

“Whatever shall we do, my little one?” he questions softly. “You and I will need to pass the time somehow.”

Wiley just stares back at him, jaw dropped open in a little  _ O _ , that adorable infant expression probably born of lack of muscle control that always looks like he’s in a state of open-mouthed wonder over his papa’s words. Killian would be perfect happy just to trace that expression with gentle fingers all day, revelling in the idea that  _ his _ boy loves  _ his _ voice, when he’s struck with an idea. A terribly silly, totally delightful idea.

“You don’t know this yet, little love, but your mama is a bit of a rock star,” he whispers conspiratorily, hauling himself back out of the comfortable chair to cross the room and turn on the sound system that is definitely  _ way  _ too elaborate for a baby’s room. Scrolling through his phone on his way back to seated comfort, he finds the song he’s looking for easily. “And even though she’s a rock star, she loves me very much. She even wrote me a song. Do you want to hear it, my lad? Want to hear Mama sing?”

When Wiley doesn’t openly shriek in protest, Killian presses play, making sure to set the volume almost as low as it will go to protect little ears and not wake Emma up from her well deserved rest. The quiet strains of his song trickle through the nursery speakers - a recording he has of Emma singing it - and he could  _ swear _ that his little boy perks up a little, hearing his mother’s voice over the sound system. 

“Yeah, that’s Mama,” he coos, lifting Wiley to rest on his chest. God, he’ll never get over that newborn smell - baby powder and something new and fresh and  _ pure _ . “Just think of all the songs she’s going to write  _ you _ , my sweet boy.”

“Are you really trying to indoctrinate him this early, Jones? I think he’s a bit young to be a fan.”

Looking up at the interruption, he can see Emma in the door, barefooted and hair still tousled from her nap. With a soft smile on her face and an amused twinkle in her eye at her boys’ tableau, she looks beautiful, though she’d probably wave him off if he tried to tell her that.

“I think Wiley will be a fan of yours regardless, darling,” he smiles back. “After all, you’re his mum.”

It never fails to amaze Killian, that his compliments can still make Emma blush after all this time, but there’s a telltale red stain to her cheeks as she moves to take the baby from him and perch on Killian’s lap so that all three are curled in the rocking chair. 

“He’ll be a fan of yours too, you know,” Emma tries to argue back in that adorable, stubborn way of hers that Killian loves.

“Well thank you darling, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re easily the more impressive of the two of us. I mean, bartender vs. famous musician? There’s a clear winner there.”

Emma shakes her head insistently, leaning back with the baby in her arms to more fully make eye contact. “Yeah, but you’re  _ Dad _ . The other stuff isn’t going to matter.”

That thought alone is awe inspiring, and Killian finds himself tearing for the countless time this week. Because she’s right, isn’t she? Just like always. Their little boy isn’t going to particularly care about such trivial matters as their profession and whether or not they can sing or write him a song, as long as he grows up loved beyond all reason. And Wiley will be, as long as Killian has breath. 

“Thank you, my love,” he smiles through teary eyes. He lets the moment sit for a bit longer, trading loving gazes with Emma as their son fights sleep between them, little eyelids fluttering to stay open. There’s a comfort to this, emotionally if not physically, holding the two most precious people in his life safe in the circle of his arms. Finally tightening his arms to draw them closer, the moment may have been effectively ended, but he relishes the chance anyways to hold his little family tighter and feel the weight of Emma’s head as it comes to rest on his shoulder.

“In any case,” he continues in a more light-hearted tone, “I wanted to introduce the little lad to one of my favorite bands. Their songwriter has an amazing voice, I’ve heard.”

Emma offers as much of a shove with her shoulder as she can without disturbing the almost-asleep Wiley in response to Killian’s teasing smirk, but her cheeks pink up again, which feels like its own kind of victory. “Shut up,” she mumbles, nestling closer into his body despite the words.

There’s so many things he could say - teasing comments and grand declarations and everything in between. He’s already lost count of the amount of times in the past week he’s thanked Emma for their son - needlessly, she claims, but Killian knows better. But the crux of the matter is this: when life is more perfect than you ever imagined possible, can words possibly express it? Is it even worth the effort of trying?

Maybe; maybe not. Killian decides that in this moment, it just doesn’t matter, and chooses instead to drop a kiss on the crown of her head. “As you wish, love,” he murmurs into the part of her hair, still happy to follow any command she gives him.

The song may finish, and the house may descend back into back into silence once again, but the little family remains cuddled together in the nursery for a while longer, even after Wiley finally falls asleep. After Emma lays the baby back in his crib and wanders back out to the main living space, Killian takes one final moment just to watch his son sleeping peacefully before joining her. It’s funny, the way one’s entire life can change in the course of a week; change infinitely and enormously and for the  _ better _ .

The house may be quiet, but his heart sounds with joyful trumpets, ushering in years of roaring happiness to come.

_ Is forever enough? Is forever enough? _

**Author's Note:**

> Aw, those cuties. I've actually got another idea bouncing around in my head, so y'all may see more of this verse soon.
> 
> This is also posted on tumblr - I'm @shireness-says. Come say hi.
> 
> I love seeing kudos and comments and feedback, so if you read this and liked it, please, be generous! It really makes me want to write more when I know y'all are enjoying these.
> 
> Thanks for reading - I hope you liked it, and it lived up to the first two parts!


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